Verity Hart Vs The Vampyres: Part Three: A Hart/McQueen Steampunk Adventure, #1

By Jennifer Harlow

KEEP CALM AND STEAMPUNK ON

The whole of Victorian London knows there is something not quite right about the Lady Verity Hart. She may be the daughter of an MP and the sister of famed inventor Lord David Hart, but she is a spinster whose own father threatens to send her to the madhouse every fortnight. Because Society is correct-Verity Hart is no lady. If they suspected how quick with a quip she is, let alone the majority of her brother's ingenious machines were her design, the sale of fainting couches would double.

Verity requires one herself when her beloved brother is kidnapped by vampyres in the dead of night. With the aid of an aggravating, rude American bounty hunter with a secret of his own, Verity takes to land, sea, and even air to rescue the only person who could ever love and truly accept her. Or is he?

Part Three of Five Includes:

Chapter Seven-A Wales of a Time

Chapter Eight-Freudian Slips

Chapter Nine-Fear of Falling

Chapter Ten-Do Not Look Down

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devil On The Left Books
• Release date: Apr 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498935258

Book preview

Verity Hart

Vs

The Vampyres

A

Hart & McQueen

Steampunk Adventure

Part Three of Five

By Jennifer Harlow

Copyright

Devil on the Left Books

Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Dowis

All Rights Reserved

First Edition

Devil on the Left Books, Peachtree City GA

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the author.

If you did not purchase this book, please return it and purchase one of your own. Respect the hard work of the author.

ALSO BY JENNIFER HARLOW

A HART & McQUEEN STEAMPUNK ADVENTURE

Verity Hart vs The Vampyres: Part One

Verity Hart vs The Vampyres: Part Two

THE GALILEE FALLS TRILOGY

In The Beginning...A Galilee Falls Short

Justice

Galilee Rising

THE F.R.E.A.K.S. SQUAD SERIES

Mind Over Monsters

To Catch a Vampire

Death Takes A Holiday

High Moon (Out Summer 2014)

THE MIDNIGHT MAGIC MYSTERY SERIES

What's A Witch To Do?

Werewolf Sings The Blues

Chapter Seven

A Wales of a Time

Bloody Charles Dickens. Why did he ever put pen to paper? If he never did perhaps McQueen pay attention to me instead of Little stupid Dorritt. Oh, I forgot he likes his women insipid and dull. No wonder the book holds such fascination to him. And the Ifans are lovely people, but how can he speak to me if they will not cease asking questions and fretting over me? The only time he acknowledges my presence is to smirk and give me sideways glimpses when Mrs. Ifans carried on about what a nice, young couple we are. It's intolerable.

The train pulls into Trearddur Bay as Mrs. Ifans finishes the story of the birth of her first great-grandchild two days before. It's a beautiful village right on the shore with sandy beaches beside rocky headlands and green fields with the odd cottage or lighthouse along the expanse. The rain has let up so only a mist remains, giving the bay an ethereal quality as if we have landed in Avalon. Boats ranging from large cargo ships with billowing steam stacks to cruising sailboats swan in and around the tranquil blue bay. In the sky, amid the multitude of flapping seagulls, a brown dirigible with a dangling gondola slowly lifts into the grey sky like a leaf on the wind. I see they use older models judging from the multi-coloured patches along the brown canvass. Brilliant.

Mrs. Ifans notices me staring up at the floating deathtrap. Beautiful, isn't it? What an exciting time we live in, getting to touch the clouds.

I prefer the ground, I say, looking away.

She's afraid of heights, McQueen says, speaking more than a syllable for the first time in over an hour.

Oh, our dirigibles are the safest in all of Wales, Mrs. Ifans proclaims. One hasn't gone down in over two years.

Marvelous, I say under my breath.

The train pulls up to the wooden platform with red brick station about as big as my bedroom. If I recall correctly this is mainly a cargo port, so immediately workmen begin unloading boxes from the train to take to awaiting ships of both air and sea. As I step down to the platform, McQueen holds his hand out with a gracious smile. Though our skin does not touch through my gloves, I still get tingles under his touch as if a Tesla coil were nearby. Delicious. Thank you.

The moment my other foot hits the ground, he yanks his hand from mine as if it were cursed, and starts walking toward the cargo area where they unload luggage. He retrieves my trunk and strides out of the station without a glimpse back my way. I follow behind with his suitcase. A few silent minutes later, a wooden cart with a real horse arrives outside the station with familiar faces on it. The Ifans offered to take us to the dirigible station, and we of course accepted. A young man, probably in his late teens, and a pretty girl a few years older sit in the back. The boy holds out his hand to aid me, but McQueen grabs hold of my hips to push me in. Those tingles return. When we're all loaded, we leave the station on a gravel road.

These are our grandchildren, Gwenda and Clyde, Mr. Ifans says as he leads the horse.

Very nice to meet you both, I say.

The girl's doe eyes do not move from McQueen, but Clyde nods. How long will you be in town for? Gwenda asks McQueen.

Depends on the dirigibles, McQueen says. Hopefully there's one tonight.

Well if you can, we'd love to have you over to dinner, Mrs. Ifans says. Seven o'clock, shepherd's pie.

We shall try to stop by if we can, I say with a gracious smile.

Through the bumpy ride the girl keeps stealing glances at McQueen then down to her hands as if shamed. She bloody well should be. He catches her once, giving her a smoldering smile. The girl turns red all over. I have the strongest urge to shove her off the cart. Lucky for her the dirigible station is only a few minutes away because my patience is waning.

The East/West Dirigible Line station or airport is barely more than a wooden box in the middle of a field with a blue uniformed man inside. There are two brass tanks filled with hydrogen the size of a buildings with hoses attached. Two smaller airships are tied to the ground beside the tanks being topped off with fuel for their voyage. They are still enormous, easily the size of a large schooners. The brown gasbags on each bobs up and down in the wind as the open gondolas, held by naught but metal cables, continue smashing against the ground. Some workmen clean the gondolas while others climb the cables to check the gasbag or simply stand around smoking. Near the highly volatile flammable gas. Lovely.

We need to get to Galway, McQueen says to the man in the ticket booth.

The clerk checks in the book. "Galway...two options. We have one to Dublin tonight, but then you'll have to wait until noon for the next one heading west. Or you can take the ship leaving here tomorrow at two-thirty. It's our express, only stops in